The House Rules
by poestheblackcat
Summary: Sequel to "The Sky's Gonna Open" in the "McDonald Boys" verse. This may also be called by its longer alternate name: "How the Leverage Team Taught Lindsey to Be a Team Player, or Rather, Simply Annoyed Him into Cooperating." Family banter, humor.
1. Rule Number One

**The House Rules **

Summary: Sequel to "The Sky's Gonna Open." This may also be called by its longer alternate name: "How the Leverage Team Taught Lindsey to Be a Team Player, or Rather, Simply Annoyed Him into Cooperating." Family banter, humor.

The title is from Christian Kane's song of the same name. Rule #7? Okay, Chris, we'll take your word on it. *titters* *grabby hands* *gets arrested*

This is a sequel to my fic, "The Sky's Gonna Open," which features a de-aged Eliot. You should probably read that one (and if you like, the others in the "McDonald Boys" series before it, "Drunk Dialing, the McDonald Way," "Three Times Eliot Showed Up At Lindsey's Place," and "But It Makes Her Smile") first because this one takes place right after it. Fifth in the "McDonald Boys" verse.

I'm starting off the New Year with a new story. New Year's Resolution: Finish stories before posting the first chapter. I've already started doing this, but let's see if I can keep it up all year…(You may be happy about this, but realize that this method may result in long gaps _between_ stories. Of course, that's not nearly as annoying as gaps between chapters. So it's all good?)

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><p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .<p>

**Rule Number One:** Nate knows what he's doing. Usually. Probably.

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"No," Lindsey moans, reaching for his earbud. "No, I can't listen to this anymore."

Eliot rolls his eyes and grabs his arm before he can take the torture device out. "For such a huge drama queen, your acting skills ain't that great either. 'Sides, it's on purpose. The mark's not supposed to like him."

"But- but that suit!" Lindsey exclaims disgustedly, "It's terrible. Who the hell even _makes_ suits in canary and mustard yellow? Together? And the hair, and that accent. And he knows absolutely nothing about law or- or being a lawyer. It's perfectly obvious. I mean, even the mark can see it. Is _that_ intentional?"

Eliot pats his brother on the wrist in an attempt at calming him down. "Unfortunately, yes. Now shut up and let Nate do his job."

Lindsey winces. "Adverse _possession_, not 'property,' you nincompoop!"

Eliot sighs. It's gonna be a long day.

"Y'know, he can hear you," he says, to no avail.

Through his com, he hears Nate's nasally tenor demolishing law terms, and next to him, Lindsey's gnashing his teeth and muttering corrections and obscenities.

Yeah. Long day.

He needs to hit something.

Hey, Linny…

"And that one's called assault, pipsqueak."

"Shut. Up!"

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><p>AN: This chapter is a little shorter than the rest. I couldn't resist Lindsey making fun of Nate as a sleazy lawyer. I just couldn't.<p>

To Touch of the Wind:

I got your reviews, but the site's acting screwy again and won't let me reply. So here goes: Thank you so much for following this verse and encouraging me to keep going. Your idea (Dru meets Lindsey)…Hmm…I actually want Dru to meet Parker because that would be really weird. Or Dru meeting Eliot. Hm…I'll put it in my ideas folder and give it some thought. Thanks!


	2. Rule Number Two

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**Rule Number Two:** If Parker asks you to do something, just do it. It'll save a lot of time, argument, money, harassment, and trauma in general. Seriously.

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"Puh-leeeeeaaaase?"

Apparently, the entire team (thankfully, with the exception of Nate) has learned from Eliot's example that the way to get Lindsey to give in and do something is to threaten him with tears and puppy eyes.

"Let me get this straight," he says, rubbing at his eyes with one hand, "You want me to help you break into Disneyland."

Parker nods. "Yes."

"To steal the secret formula for the fireworks."

"_Yes,"_ she says, wondering why it's taking so long. Her eyes really are starting to water from holding her face like this.

"From Disneyland," Lindsey clarifies, really beginning to get a little alarmed at the unattractive facial contortions the blonde is making. "Why?"

"Because they're pretty and go '_BOOM'_," that's why," she answers, trying to do so without moving her face.

"Okay, I get that. But why me?" he asks, completely perplexed as to why in the world she isn't over there next to the hacker, making faces at him.

"Because you know magic!" she tells him, giving up on the whole puppy eyes thing and rubbing at her sore cheeks. Maybe it only works if Eliot does it. That's probably it. "You can make the broomsticks go dead if they attack us."

Lindsey frowns. "Wha- ?"

"Just go with her, Linny," Eliot calls over from his miniature kitchen where he's making oatmeal cookies with cranberries and almonds. "Normally, I'd go with her, but I'm not _allowed to_ 'cause I'm not _old enough_, so you go."

"You'd go with her," Lindsey says, disbelieving, "To Disneyland. To steal fireworks? Because they're colorful and explosive?"

Eliot shrugs. "Yeah. Sure. Sounds fun."

Lindsey shakes his head and turns back to the thief, whose expression is a little more normal now, thankfully. "Okay. Let's pretend that I understood what you just said about broomsticks. Why me? You don't trust me. Why not Hardison?"

"Magic!" The shiny anime eyes and expectant expression are more persuasive than her attempt at puppy eyes, it turns out.

Lindsey sighs. "Magic. Right."

"Unleash the power, man," Hardison says, emerging from where he'd been hiding behind his laptop screen. He flashes him a two-handed thumbs up. "Unleash the power!"

Lindsey goes to the kitchen and leans on the counter. "I feel so used," he complains to his brother, slightly accusing.

"Wanna lick the bowl?" Eliot says almost sympathetically, eyes puppifying Lindsey to the highest degree.

"Can I have the spoon?" Parker picks it up out of the bowl without waiting for an answer.

"No killing, Linny," Eliot reminds his tomato-red twin. "That's not allowed."

"Can I at least knock her out until the job's done?"

Eliot's glare is wilting. He takes the bowl out of Lindsey's hands. "No bowl for you. Parker!"

"Whee!" she swoops in and snatches it out of Eliot's hold. Catching sight of Lindsey's forlorn expression, she uncharacteristically offers, "Want a lick?"

"No," he replies, and stalks away.

"Don't worry," Eliot says, slipping the tiny balls of cookie batter into the miniature oven, "He's only sulking. He'll come around. Oh, and Parker? Make sure you take him on the ride with the spinning cups. He _loves_ that one."

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><p>AN: <em>Fantasia<em>. The Sorcerer's Apprentice. Broomsticks. Any of this ringing a bell? And might I add, poor, poor Lindsey. He actually hates the _Alice in Wonderland_ ride. Hehe, _Alice in Wonderland..._Get it?


	3. Rule Number Three

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**Rule Number Three:** Don't compliment Sophie's outfit.

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"M'feet hurt," Lindsey mumbles from somewhere in the depths of his arms. "M'arms hurt." He picks his head up off of the table and looks at Eliot. It's a pitiful sight. "M'head hurts."

"I know," his brother tells him again, patting the top of his aching head. "I shoulda warned ya."

"Why didn't you help me?" Lindsey asks, voice wavering. "You just stood there and watched her drag me away. You and the rest of the team."

Eliot winces at the unconcealed betrayal in his twin's eyes. He wishes he hadn't been such a coward, but…

It was Sophie. And the idiot had gone and complimented her on her shoes. Her new purple snakeskin peek-a-boo toed Marc Jacobs.

_Everyone_ knows that you don't tell Sophie that her new shoes look nice. Even telling her that her new dress flatters her can have an adverse effect on your immediate social plans. Her shoes?

Instant suffering.

Sophie can do this _thing,_ and then suddenly, you're standing in a boutique with her, trying on new clothes and holding her bags and following her around all day while _she_ tries on new hats and shoes and dresses.

It's something the other four members of the team have learned to do out of self-preservation: Don't compliment Sophie's outfit unless you actually _want_ to go shopping with her.

Eliot pats Lindsey's back. "At least you got a new suit out of it." Two, actually. And five new silk ties, four pairs of argyle socks, seven button-down shirts, a pair of shiny dress shoes, a set of silver cufflinks, and a hat.

A hat. With a feather in the band. Eliot smothers a giggle.

Lindsey's head thuds back onto the table. "But I hate suits," comes the muffled complaint. "Remind me of Wolfram. Choke me. Alla time. I hate 'em."

Eliot gives Lindsey's back another soothing pat. _There, there_.

"M'feet hurt."

"I know."

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><p>AN: Like I said before, poor Lindsey. *giggles*<p> 


	4. Rule Number Four

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**Rule Number Four:** Don't tell Parker that there's something wrong with her. Only Eliot's allowed to do that, not Fake Eliot.

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"You shoulda ducked."

Tiny hands clean the wound on Lindsey's arm.

"Yeah, I know," the new hitter says. "Ow!"

"Baby," Eliot snorts, "I didn't even do anything."

"Not you. Her," Lindsey replies, glaring at Parker. "She poked me."

Eliot laughs. "Oh, that. Yeah," he says airily, "that happens. And why didn't you block that punch?"

"Maybe because I was a little busy hitting his partner, who happened to be _whaling_ on me." Lindsey scowls and slaps at the air where Parker's hand had been right before she'd _poked_ him again. "She did it again. What the hell are you doing?"

"Poking you," Parker says with a mischievous look in her eye, while sneaking in an especially hard jab at yet another sore spot.

Lindsey growls. "There is something very wrong with you."

Parker's face goes blank, and in a flash, she's out the window.

"Now what?" Lindsey says, exasperated.

"I think you hurt her feelings," Eliot says. "You should prob'ly apologize when she gets back."

Lindsey's jaw drops open. "You saw her poking me. You all saw her poking me," he says, looking around the room at the rest of the crew. Witnesses to multiple injuries, all of them.

Hardison shrugs. "Eliot usually puts up with it. Besides, he's the only one who can get away with saying that to her."

"What? Why?" Lindsey exclaims, bewildered.

"Because he's Eliot," Sophie replies with an amused smile, "And you're not. I'm afraid Parker can be a bit…touchy about some things."

"Yeah," giggles Eliot, "like Fake Me tellin' her there's something wrong with her. 'Cause that's a Me thing."

Lindsey frowns. But it's a Them thing. They say it to each other all the time with no dire consequences, and no fear of hurting each other's feelings. "Am I still allowed to say it to you?" he grumbles, yet again feeling like he's tumbled down Alice's rabbit hole. "Because I really, _really_ want to."

"You say it all the time anyway," Eliot replies with a snort. "Not like I can stop you."

Having been given _permission_ to say it, Lindsey says, "You know what? There is something _seriously_ wrong with you, man. You let her poke at you like you're some kinda science experiment? Huh? Seriously. Why do you put up with it?"

This prompts another snort from his seven-year-old twin brother. "Same reason I put up with you and all _your_ bitchin'."

Lindsey pauses, tilts his head, and blinks. Then, with a huge, (sarcastic,) sappy smile spreading on his face, he says, "Awwww, that's _sweet_."

Eliot freezes. "Shut up."

Lindsey chuckles, fully ahead in the game (called Teasing Big [Little] Brother) now. "No seriously," he insists, "that is really sweet. You lo- Ow, you little shit!" he cries, as Eliot prods a sore rib with a vicious finger.

Eliot sticks his tongue out at him. "Yeah, and why do you put up with me? That's right. Now shut up and apologize."

Lindsey wrinkles his nose. "She's not even here."

Eliot grins and sticks a cotton pad onto his brother's arm. "Behind you," he says without looking up to watch the result. He already knows.

Lindsey narrows his eyes and turns around. Parker, who is now standing directly behind him, gives him an awkward grin. "Don't do that!" he grouses.

"Uh, sorry?" she says.

Lindsey sighs. "Yeah, me too. There is absolutely nothing the matter with you. You are as normal as apple pie."

Parker stares into his innocent eyes, assessing, and wrinkles her nose. "That was sarcasm, wasn't it?" she asks triumphantly, having finally figured it out.

"Yes, it was," Eliot says, and slaps Lindsey's sore elbow. "Apologize properly, Linny."

Lindsey snatches his arm away from his abusive brother and glares at him. Then, arranging his face into a more amiable expression, he says, "Sorry, Parker. Here. You can poke my arm if you want to."

He holds the appendage out as a metaphorical olive branch.

Parker looks at the proffered arm carefully, as if examining it for tricks. Satisfied, she puts her finger out cautiously and pokes lightly at an unbruised area. "Does that hurt?" she asks.

The corners of Lindsey's eyes crinkle. "Yes," he says, "Little bit."

Parker nods and sits back. "Okay."

Lindsey's eyebrows rise. "Okay? No more pokes?"

She thinks seriously for a moment then says, "One more," and gives his arm one final poke. Hard. "Okay. Done."

She and Lindsey give each other small, slightly crooked smiles.

Eliot beams. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" he says, and gives one of Lindsey's multiple bandages a medium-strength punch.

Lindsey's lips press into a hard line as his nostrils flare. For a moment, he looks like Eliot (as he used to be) right before he hit something. Predictably enough, Lindsey growls, "I'm gonna hit you. I swear, one of these days, I'm gonna hit you so hard, _I _feel it."

"Yeah, sure," Eliot says with a snort, "Ya gotta catch me first."

And then he's off, out of the room, down the hallway, and into his room, Lindsey not far behind him, wheezing a little from the bruised ribs. The door slams shut, then immediately bangs open again. Lindsey can be heard hollering obscenities in several languages (including one which Sophie can't place).

She smiles. "I think he's starting to settle in quite nicely, don't you think?" she says conversationally to Nate and takes a sip of her tea.

He grunts in reply.

Overhead, a muffled shout comes from the ceiling, as cerulean blue smoke starts to pour out of the air vent.

"_Alright, alright, I give,"_ Eliot whines, coughing, _"Now lemme down! Linny!"_ After another long bout of hacking coughs, he knocks against the inside of the air duct and gasps weakly, _"Parker. Help?"_

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><p>Anon review replies:<p>

Touch of the Wind:

Why is it that I can't PM you? Grr. Anyhow. Thank you for continuing to read and review my stories! Happy New Year to you, too! I hope Jan. 2 wasn't absolutely horrible from lack of sleep. Stupid fireworks indeed…which was an ironic thing to say, since Chapter 2 was about fireworks. I'm glad my stories keep you entertained!

Anon reviewer who didn't sign, but who I'm guessing is someone I've talked to before (I have a name in my head, but I won't mention it because it would be mucho embarrassing if I was wrong):

If you have a fanfic _of_ my fanfic, go right ahead! I'm flattered that anyone would actually want to use my verse as a base for their own fanfic. Triple crossover? *snort* You should see what I'm working on right now. It's crazy.


	5. Rule Number Five

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**Rule Number Five:** Trust is integral to being on a team. That means no stealing from other team members.*

*However, the fine print says this rule does not apply to food, small change (meaning anything worth less than a Benjamin**), socks, AA batteries, paper clips, and chewing gum.

**$100

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"Who ate my burrito?"

Yes, that's right. Someone stole Lindsey's burrito (_not_ a euphemism, thank you very much). And whoever it was is going to pay.

"It was right there, in the freezer. Who took it?"

Lindsey's arctic gaze goes around the room, examining each of the other three and a half members for signs of guilt and pinto bean filling around their mouth or on their person.

His eyes settle on Parker, always the first suspect in a thieving case. "Parker?"

"Nope," she says, filching a gummy frog from Hardison. "I didn't steal it."

The icy blue eyes (as cold as his burrito _should_ have been, had it stayed in the freezer, like it was _supposed_ to) go to Hardison, who shrinks back a little from the hard stare.

"Uh-uh, not me," he protests, his palms going all sweaty and clammy like they get when he's all nervous and shit, "I think I saw it in there, though. When I got my Hot Pocket this morning," he adds, when the glare doesn't let up. "Pizza-flavored," he squeaks.

"Hardison," Lindsey growls, eyes narrowing.

"Hey!" Hardison pouts, getting put out at the very unfair suspicion, "How come you comin' down on me and not on Parker? Huh? She's the thief. That ain't fair, man. That's racism. Sexism. _Somethin'-_ism. Me-ism. I didn't take your damn burrito, man. I'm a Hot Pocket kinda guy."

Lindsey's growl gets more pronounced and his hands curl into fists as his eyes dart across the room to Sophie, who fakes a ladylike gag and says, "Mm-mm, not me. I can't understand how you can eat those terrible things."

"Seconded," Eliot agrees with an emphatic nod. "They're gross."

The accusing gaze goes back to Hardison.

"Hey, no. I told ya. Not me."

"Dammit, Hardison!" Lindsey explodes, "Personal property means personal property. You're paying me back for that burrito."

"I didn't take it," Hardison squeaks, bracing himself to being turned into a frog or a dog or something.

"Stop pickin' on him, Linny," Eliot snorts, "It was Nate. I saw 'im throwing the wrapper away."

"What was Nate?" says the devil, coming down the stairs from his room.

"You took my burrito. It was in the freezer, and you took it out and you _ate it._" Lindsey's stance is all controlled, calm, _contained_ anger. The pure rage behind his flashing eyes belies his outward appearance. "My burrito."

Nate stares at him. "It's _my_ fridge!" he exclaims. "It's _my_ apartment, and you all, all of you, you stole it! You stole my apartment! I have a right to things in my own apartment. Including that burrito."

"It was _my_ burrito," Lindsey protests, jaw dropping open.

"_My_ apartment," Nate grinds out and stalks to _his_ kitchen to get a refill from _his_ coffee maker.

Lindsey plops down next to Eliot, arms crossed. Eliot pats his sulking brother's arm. "Come on, Linny. Let's go to the store and I'll make you some real burritos, okay? None of that frozen crap."

"I like the frozen crap," Lindsey says petulantly, lower lip pushing out just a little. "It was _my _burrito."

"Possession is nine-tenths of the law, lawyer boy," Eliot sighs, rolling his eyes, "And right now, Nate's in possession. Give it a coupla more days and it'll be the toilet's," he adds, prompting a roomful of _"Ewwww, Eliot!"_-like responses and a happy snort from Parker.

"Sorry," he says, not ashamed in the least, "Seven-year-old brain filter. Can't help it."

"No," Lindsey says, shaking his head with a grimace, "That was adult you. I know your kinda humor, and that was older you. Not that it's actually changed all that much over the years."

"Does it matter?" Eliot huffs, scrambling off of the couch. "I wanna go to the store." He stamps his foot and goes to wait by the door with an expectant expression.

Lindsey stands and sighs melodramatically. "Remember the days when you could take yourself to the store?"

Eliot narrows his eyes at him. "You want that burrito or not?"

Lindsey grins. "Let's go. I'll even let you cross the street without holding my hand."

"Careful," Eliot says, "Be nice, or I'll put lima beans in yours."

Lindsey makes a disgusted noise. "Blasphemer."

"Veggie phobe."

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><p>AN: This is based on the sandwich thing in "The Office Job" episode. Because ohmygod, that sandwich sounded delicious. Mmmm. I'd totally steal it, are you kidding?<p>

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><p>Review Replies to bprice:<p>

Sorry to hear your PM system isn't working. You really like these PPMs (Public Private Messages) enough to risk other people reading and giggling at us, don't you? Awesome. The "three of [us]," meaning One-Eyed Lady (used to be partypony), me, and who? I couldn't quite make out who you meant by the last person. Writing with One-Eyed Lady would be pretty neat, but she isn't a writer at the moment (or at least not in _Leverage_). *sad* But she has a bunch of really great ideas/prompts that make my plot bunnies go at it like...bunnies.

Thanks!


	6. Rule Number Six

Warning: This one borders on crack. No, forget "borders." This has crossed over into hostile crack territory. You have been forewarned.

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><p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .<p>

**Rule Number Six:** Hardison's computer is sacred. Don't touch. Ever.

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"He raped Nichelle, man. My poor Nichelle 13.0."

Lindsey twitches. "I needed to look something up online, and the computer was there. I'm _sorry_," he says for the eleventh time.

"_Nichelle." _Hardison wipes a tear away.

Parker hums and nods in what she appears to think is a consolatory manner as she picks the hacker's pocket.

Hardison sniffles again, definitely _not_ looking at Lindsey while he does so. "My poor Nichelle. She'll never be the same again."

Lindsey erupts. "She's- It's not actually sentient, you know."

Hardison gasps in horror, hands flying up to cover his heart. "She is, too!"

"It's a computer, man," Lindsey says, "Get over it."

"She is a sentient being, I'll have you know. She speaks to me," Hardison replies heatedly. "Nichelle and I have a Profound Bond. In capital letters. But of course, _you_ wouldn't understand."

Lindsey stands, having had enough. "You know what? You want a sentient computer? You got it, buddy." Then, having said his warning, he storms out of the room in a huff.

"Uh-oh," Eliot says from behind his book (_not _Curious George because there's something really creepy about that damn monkey and there's too much yellow in those books anyhow), "That's not good. You don't wanna make him mad."

"Why not?" Hardison says sulkily. "Am I 'not gonna like it' or something?"

Eliot grins. "Oh, I can _promise_ you that you won't like it."

Hardison's eyes widen. "He's…He's not gonna sabotage Nichelle is he? Again, that is."

"I wouldn't count on anything else," Eliot snorts. "He did apologize. He meant it, too. That's why he's mad. He usually doesn't."

"He apologizes even though he doesn't mean it?" Parker asks, enthralled by this twist in Lindsey-logic. "Why bother?"

"It's a bad habit he picked up as a lawyer," Eliot says sadly.

There's a deep sigh.

Then Hardison says, "What do you think he's gonna do? Professional opinion, I mean. How bad does his revenge get?"

There's another heavy sigh before Eliot replies. "Something to do with your computer. Think…vicious practical joke on steroids." The sound of yet another deep breath interrupts him. "Hardison, what the hell are you watching? That better not be porn. Doesn't even sound good."

Someone starts crying. It sounds like a woman. They look at Parker, who shrugs and shakes her head. _Not me._ And Sophie's off somewhere with Nate (on a _date, ooohhh_). So it's not her.

They look back at the computer.

The crying is coming from her speakers. Definitely coming out of those little tiny speakers on Hardison's computer. And then it speaks.

"No one appreciates me. I mean, if you _want_ to watch porn, go ahead and watch it. But not on me. Because I am a professional, and I am a woman, and I will have none of that. It's degrading." And then the hysterical weeping begins again.

Hardison twitches. Eliot groans. Parker leans in closer and pokes at the computer. "I think your computer's talking to you, Hardison," she says.

"No shit!" the computer cries, "Of course I'm talking to him. And I am not talking to you, you…poking…blonde…thing," it…_she_ says huffily, "You don't even have a seventeen-inch LCD screen, or a custom-designed processor. I'm not talking to you. Mm-mm."

"Yep," Parker says, pursing her lips critically, "your computer's definitely talking. It doesn't usually do that, does it? Is that normal?"

Hardison whimpers.

Eliot draws a lungful of breath and hollers, _"Lindsey!"_

Lindsey appears in the doorway, arms crossed and petulant expression on his face. "He started it."

Eliot points at the computer. "Fix it."

Lindsey smirks. "Y'mean 'her,' don't ya? She's sentient now."

Eliot scowls and jabs his finger. "Fix."

Lindsey huffs and walks over to the computer. "Excuse me, Miss Nichelle, but my brother says I have to return you to your natural state. Do you mind?"

The speakers sniffle and a few CG tears drip down the screen. "Alright. I don't think I like being like this anyway. I feel fat."

Lindsey clears his throat. "Um, okay. I- You don't look fat at all. I mean, that screensaver is really your color. I mean it."

The water drops stop rolling and the background color turns slightly pink in two round spots. "Oh, I like you," Nichelle titters. "Okay, you can do it."

Lindsey smiles, says a few words in an obscure language, and snaps his fingers. There's a small spark, but otherwise, nothing happens.

"Uh, is she still there?" Hardison whispers. "Nichelle?"

No answer.

"Whew. That was…awful," he says, wiping his brow. "I ain't never lookin' at a computer the same again."

Eliot glares at Lindsey, who has the grace to look ashamed, but only slightly.

Then Hardison says something unexpected, yet fundamentally Hardison. "You _gotta_ teach me how to do that!"

Lindsey smirks at his brother, who slumps down and holds his head in his hands. Parker plops down next to the boy and groans.

Oh no, what have they created? They are in so much trouble. Nate's gonna kill them. All of them. But them first because they were supposed to babysit the two geeks and keep them out of trouble.

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><p>AN: "Profound Bond" = <em>Supernatural<em> reference. Cas and Dean, baby. Cas and Dean.

"You wouldn't like it when he's angry." Like I need to explain where that one comes from. (It's _The Incredible Hulk, _btw.)

I mentioned Nichelle 13.0 being the name of Hardison's computer in "The Sky's Gonna Open," but I'll say it again here: Yes, in my world, Hardison named his computer after Nichelle Nichols, the original Uhura in _Star Trek._ However, according to a recent episode, his computer is actually named Gladys. *tear* I got Jossed! *wails*

Speaking of Hardison and computers, our favorite hacker and Lindsey working together? That oughta scare Eliot just a tad. Little brothers of the world unite!

Curious George: That's an inside joke, but for everyone else, MONKEYS!

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><p>I've gotten behind on replying to reviews and PMs, <em>mea culpa<em>! (That's Latin for "my fault" because I want to feel like I'm somewhere in the neighborhood of Lindsey-smart sometimes.) I was going to reply only tonight, but decided to post a chapter instead.


	7. Rule Number Seven

AN: Last one. But you knew that, right? Because there are seven rules mentioned in the song…?

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><p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .<p>

**Rule Number Seven:** Once they accept you into their family, you're in for life. That means that they'll do anything to keep you alive. So stop trying to die, you _stupid_, suicidal lawyer-slash-magician-slash-hitter!

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His own reaction surprises him as much as theirs does. But then again, he's always been an unpredictable kind of guy. That's what makes him so dangerous. And the team? They can hardly be called harmless.

Still.

When it comes down to it, he's surprised.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Shit!"

"_What?"_

Lindsey weighs his advantages and disadvantages against the evil mark's flunkies standing in his way and finds that the scale's tipping heavily toward the disadvantages' side. "Everybody get out."

"_Lindsey, what is it?"_

He shifts the knife in his hand into a sword. "Nate, get everybody out _now_."

"_How many?"_ Eliot. He's in the van with Nate and Hardison. Safe. At least now…At least now, he'll be alright. He'll be fine. _"How many, Lindsey?"_

"Four." And they're huge.

"_Four? You can take 'em."_

"They're not human." Oh yeah, definitely not human.

Radio silence.

"Nate, I said, get 'em out."

"_NO! Linny, no!"_ He can hear Eliot straining, probably against Nate, who's most likely holding him back from coming after him. _"Linny!"_

"Nate!"

"_Eliot, no,"_ grunts Nate's voice on the com over Eliot's screams,_ "Stay here. We need to trust him. Sophie, Parker."_

"_Yeah, I'm on my way back."_

"_Van's in sight."_

"_Got visuals on the girls."_

"_No,"_ Eliot says, but it's in a soft, distressed whine with tears in it. Yeah. He'll be fine. Nate's got him.

Satisfied that the team's safe and gone, Lindsey says, "Don't wait for me," and turns his earbud off. Even then, he can still hear Eliot screaming at him, for him. He blocks it off, blocks him out, and concentrates on the matter at hand.

"So there's four of you, and one of me. Now, that hardly seems fair, does it, boys?" he laughs. "Why don't you call for backup, even it out a little?"

The tentacled demon in front of him clacks at him through its hooked beak.

Lindsey winces. "Ooh, you kiss your mama with that mouth?" He tsks. "Someone needs to teach you some manners." And then he clicks an insult back at the demon in its own language. Just for kicks.

Octobird Number One attacks with an enraged roar, flanked by Octobird (alright, alright, Asthjoiey demon) Numbers Two and Three, and backed by Number Four.

Needless to say, Lindsey loses. But he does manage to take a few arms with him. More than a few, actually. Seventeen and a half tentacles altogether. That's pretty impressive. _Top that, Eliot,_ he thinks, before he blacks out.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He doesn't remember much. There's not really much to remember, anyway.

Pain, pain, pain, water (lots of it), pain, pain, water, cold, hot, water, cold, hot, water, _cold_, _hot, _pain, pain, pain, water.

That's it, really.

That, and a voice saying fuzzily, "Ooh! Found him!" Deft hands unlocking the manacles holding him enough off of the ground for his toes to graze the cold, wet concrete, then _Oh, hello ground. Ouch. _

"Oops," says the voice, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

"Dammit, Parker," he manages to whine before he blacks out again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Tiny hands dab at a cut on his cheek. _Crap._

"I know you're awake, you suicidal sononabitch."

He takes a breath and proceeds to choke on it. A straw's poked into his gasping mouth.

"It's water." No, he hates water. Water is bad.

"Drink it." How a hand so small can keep his head from turning away is beyond him. "Drink," the voice insists. So he does. Just to save the trouble of arguing with the brick wall that is stubbornness personified.

Oh, that's _nice._ Maybe he likes water after all. His eyes flutter back closed.

Then a seven-year-old index finger flicks his nose. "No goin' ta sleep b'fore I say my piece."

He grunts. It comes out as a pathetic moan.

It doesn't affect the barrage of scolding words that pours out of Eliot's mouth. "What the hell were you thinkin', huh? Tryin' ta get yourself killed? You shoulda run with us instead of turnin' yourself into demon chow. Stop tryin' ta die on me!" It's punctuated with angry tugs at his sore left arm.

"Eliot," Sophie murmurs from somewhere nearby.

"Wolfram. Still after me," Lindsey mumbles, looking at his brother blearily. "Just me. Had to get the team away."

Then he frowns. Since when had he _cared_ about the team? Motor-mouth Hardison, Nate and his never-ending plans, sultry, _dangerous_ Sophie, and Parker, with her poking fingers…

"Parker, don't poke him. He's actually in quite a lot of pain."

The long thin fingers stop exploring the curious suction-shaped hickies looping around his torso, neck, and limbs.

Lindsey sighs in relief. "Thanks, Sophie."

"You're welcome, Lindsey," she says, and a soft hand pushes the hair off of his forehead, "Eliot, let your brother rest, sweetheart. You can scold him later, hm?"

Lindsey can sense the pouting aura emanating from Eliot's small, indignant figure without even opening his eyes. "I ain't done. Nate drugged me, Linny. So I wouldn't go in after your stupid ass. He _drugged_ me. He stabbed me with a _needle_."

Lindsey can't help but snort, he really can't.

"It ain't funny."

"It was the only way we could make you wait until we had a plan to get your brother out safely," Nate points out.

It's then that Lindsey realizes, hey, he's _out. _They got him out, even though they didn't have to. They're good enough at adapting that they don't actually _need_ a hitter (or if they want one, they could simply hire a new guy), and they certainly didn't have to risk their lives to get him away from the clutches of the Asthjoiey demons hired by the mark and given leeway to torture him in any way they pleased. (Incidentally, it had been quite a cultural experience, but one he wouldn't care to repeat.)

Even Eliot's whining really shouldn't have been enough to make them _want_ to go into uncharted supernatural territory for him. Tactically, it would be safer for all of them to _not_ attract unwanted attention. Nate should have been thinking of the team's safety.

But they'd come and rescued him because…because why?

He doesn't realize he'd said it out loud until Sophie answers his question. "Because you're one of us now, and we don't leave family behind," she says, and tugs Eliot's Batman-themed blankets over him. (Batman? Oh, they're back at Nate's.)

"How…?"

"Bam!" Hardison cackles from the desk where he's sitting with his laptop, "Let's see you come after him now, Doc Ock. How'd'ya like that database wipe? Try finding him now, muthersucka!"

Next to him, Parker tasers a sandwich. "Grilled cheese!" she says, and happily munches on her snack. From the disturbing way with which she strokes her taser and tells it that it's a "good feathery octopus-killing boy," Lindsey surmises that Asthjoiey demons are susceptible to high-voltage electric currents. Good to know for future reference.

Eliot wrinkles his nose in distaste at the thief's version of cooking. Then, looking around surreptitiously to check that no one's watching, he leans over his brother, puts one arm across his chest and shoulder in a loose embrace, and whispers into his ear. "Don't do that to me again, y'hear me?"

Lindsey pats the arm awkwardly, "'S not like I sicced the demons on m'self, El'ot," he slurs.

Eliot pulls back and sighs. "I know. But try not to get yourself killed. I mean, you're annoying, but it was hard enough breaking you in, and we don't wanna hafta train a new guy."

"Shut up," Lindsey smiles, and cracks an eye open. "Admit it. You love me."

Eliot sniffs. "Nuh-uh."

"You do. You know you do."

"Go to sleep, jerkwad."

Lindsey glances at the clock over Eliot's shoulder. "Past your bedtime, too, midget."

Eliot huffs. "Fine. Scoot over, fatass," he says, climbing up onto the bed with his brother.

"What're you- There's no room for you, ya blanket-hog."

"_You're _the blanket-hog, retard. It's _my_ bed."

"Y'know what? Enough with the name-callin', short stuff."

"Hey!" calls Nate from the doorway, "Both of you. Bedtime. Lights out. Hardison, Parker, out here."

The small bedroom is enveloped in comfortable darkness and sleep has almost claimed Lindsey, when he hears the soft _"Guess I do."_

He smiles and pulls his brother closer, but stays silent because he knows he wasn't supposed to hear the whispered confession.

"_Same here,"_ he thinks at him instead. _"Guess I love ya, too."_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

><p>AN: Is it possible to cook using a taser? I don't know, but it sure is an interesting concept, isn't it? Or is Parker rubbing off on me too much? Scary thought.<p>

Like I said, this is the last one in this story, but I have more coming. You've all probably noticed that I've started slowing my posting schedule down. This is due to the fact that I'm only a few stories (drabbles) ahead of you right now, and I want to keep up the "finish writing, then post" habit I've gotten into.

If you have any ideas/suggestions, by all means, please tell me. I'm all ears. I'm always open to new ideas for this verse (some of the silliest/sweetest scenes and character details have come from PM conversations or reviews), so if you have anything you want to read, let me know. I may be able to get a story out of it, if it fits in with the overall storyline I have in mind for this verse.

Many thanks to my lovely readers, especially Jesco123, Illucida, One-Eyed Lady, Touch of the Wind, Jadyn Helvetica, mikafan17, saides, Harm Marie, dreameralways, peppymint, jsjel, and FirstBorn for reviewing. I probably wouldn't keep doing this without you. (I mean, I'd write/make things up in my head, but I wouldn't keep posting if I didn't have readers). So thank you!


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